Down the Rabbit Hole Once More
by KateC24601
Summary: It's been a month since Castle went missing and Kate finds herself falling down the rabbit hole. Based on a prompt from Castle Fanfic Prompts on Tumblr. Angst. Lots and lots of angst. Three-Shot.
1. Kate

Disclaimer: I would say "I wish" but after watching _The Time of Our Lives _last night, I'm really glad that Andrew Marlowe owns Castle. It was amazing.

A/N: Based on a prompt from Castle Fanfic Prompts on tumblr; prompt at bottom. Although, I highly doubt that this is what the prompter had in mind.

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><p>Kate slammed the phone back in its cradle, collapsed back in her chair, and let out a frustrated sigh.<p>

Another dead-end to add to the list.

She sighed again as her hands came up to rub her temples and her eyes slipped shut. She hadn't slept more than 10 minutes in the last 72 hours; she was exhausted.

She looked up at his picture on the murder board and let a few tears leak out. No one was at the precinct this early - except Gates who was tucked away in her office - so no one would see.

She allowed herself a few minutes to get lost in his picture, to get lost in the perfect lines that made up his smiling face.

She was pulled from her thoughts when an arm passed in front of her vision and placed a vibrant yellow Post-it note on her desk. When she looked up, she was met with Gates's stern gaze.

Kate immediately sat up ram-rod straight, "What is this? Is it a lead? Did someone call in?" Her voice was frantic and high pitched and she knew it, but she didn't care.

"No, Detective, it's an address. Of a murder that just took place. You are going to take the lead on it. Detectives Ryan and Esposito have already been contacted, and they will meet you at the scene."

"But, Sir—" she tried to interject, but she was interrupted.

"I appreciate your situation, Detective," Gates voice softened, and she sat down in the chair next to Kate's desk. Castle's chair. Kate cringed, but didn't say anything. "But, Kate, it's been a month; you haven't had a solid lead in weeks. You're a homicide detective, and this isn't what the NYPD is paying you for."

A horrified look crossed Kate's face

"I'm not telling you to stop; I'm just telling you to do this too." Gates placed a surprisingly gentle hand over Kate's before getting up and retreating to her office.

Kate stood and pulled on her coat, her movements stiff and angry. She grabbed the address and stormed to the elevator.

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><p>The case was a tough one; it took way too much of her time and brainpower. It wasn't closed until almost two weeks later.<p>

Kate had spent the nights of those two weeks working Castle's case until very early in the morning then falling asleep at her desk until Ryan or Esposito came to wake her up with a cup of coffee.

It was the same coffee order that Castle always brought her, but the flavor was wrong now: flat and bitter.

"Go home, Kate." She's not sure who said it; she was too tired to care, and for once, she listened.

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><p>She almost fell asleep standing in the elevator on the way up to the loft. Her hands shook as she tried to grab her keys from her coat pocket.<p>

Then she heard a voice from inside the apartment. _His _voice.

She tried to speed up her movements. She _needed_ to be in that apartment, but the faster she moved, the harder her hands shook.

"Castle!" she shrieked, her voice sounded twisted and garbled to her ears.

Her frazzled, sleep-deprived brain decided that all of this was just _too much._

Suddenly, she was numb. She stopped shaking, but she lost her grip on the keys and they fell to her feet.

"Castle!" she called again, her lips and tongue felt thick and fuzzy.

She _needed _get into that apartment. So she stepped back, and with all the power she had left in her, she kicked down the door.

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><p>The apartment was empty; someone had left the TV on, and a news story on him blasted through the apartment. A sound byte from an ancient interview with him from when the first Derick Storm book came out hit her like a pile of bricks.<p>

"No," her whisper was muffled over the sound of blood rushing in her ears.

And then other words were falling out of her mouth. At first it was unintelligible gibberish, but then gibberish became words, and words became sentences. And she recognized the sentences.

"_When I met you, my life became extraordinary_."

Her wedding vows.

"_You taught me to be my best self,"_

Why was she saying her wedding vows?

"_To look forward to tomorrow's adventures."_

Why couldn't she stop?

"_And when I was vulnerable, you were strong."_

She didn't want to hear this, didn't want to listen to it. Why couldn't she stop?

"_I love you, Richard Castle."_

She was choking now, her words coming out of her mouth as strangled gasps.

"_And I want to live my life in the warmth of your smile."_

She was suddenly very hot; her high-collared coat was suffocating. So she ripped it off.

"_And the strength of your embrace."_

It still wasn't enough. So she ripped off her blouse.

"_I promise you, I will love you."_

She still couldn't breathe. Why couldn't she breath? Why wouldn't her mouth stop forming words? Why were words still clawing their way out of her throat and past her lips?

"_I will be your friend and your partner in crime and in life."_

It was her hair. Her tangled, matted hair, that hadn't been bushed or washed in days, was wrapped around her neck.

"_Always."_

She forced her legs to carry her to the kitchen. Her hands blindly searched for something – anything – to free her.

"_The moment I met you, my life became extraordinary..."_

NO! It was starting over. Why was it starting over?

Her fingers wrapped around a sharp knife from the drainer.

Her mouth kept spitting out vows, but she was ignoring them now, focusing on cutting herself free.

YES! She could breathe again! She took a deep, gasping breath and fell to the floor.

Words continued to bubble out of her throat:

"_When I was vulnerable, you were strong."_

"_I promise you, I will love you."_

"_Always"_

And they kept coming: faster and faster.

And she still had the knife in her hand.

And her greasy hair was sticking to her naked shoulders.

And then she was cutting it away.

And breathing harder.

And cutting faster.

And breathing even harder.

And cutting even faster.

And her blood was still rushing in her ears.

And the TV was still playing his voice.

And her vows kept spilling from her mouth.

And faster.

And harder.

And louder.

And then everything went black.

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><p>Prompt: Kate reciting her wedding vows to herself while chopping her hair off  setting up Castle's "murder board," or under any circumstance the author finds the most suitable.


	2. Martha

Martha was trying to text.

It was not going well.

The buttons – that weren't really buttons to begin with – were just too small. Her "I's" kept becoming "O's" and "C's" kept becoming "V's", and this stupid "auto-correct" kept making her say Thanksgiving instead of thank you.

She barely registered the ding of the elevator as it arrived at her floor. Still engrossed with trying to set up a date with Robert from grief counseling, Martha didn't even notice the keys on the floor of the hallway before she was tripping over them.

She tried to catch herself on the door to the apartment - except there was no door: it was on the floor along with the keys. At the last second she was able to catch herself on the doorframe.

Her eyes grew wide and she slipped her phone into her coat pocket as she took in the scene in front of her. She heard the television blaring a story on Richard. "A month and still no answers," said a reporter. Like Martha needed to be told twice: she was living every second of the 'no answers,' every minute of the not knowing, and every day of the same hopeless, gnawing worry about her son.

Then she noticed the clothes. One of Katherine's shoes was lying beside the fallen door with a broken heel, a blazer a few more feet into the apartment, and in the open space between the kitchen island and the living room lay a ripped, white dress shirt.

Suddenly, Martha thought she had a very clear picture of what had happened here, and she was hit with a barrage of emotions. So many that she wasn't quite positive what all of them were, but she was sure of at least one: anger.

She stormed over to the shirt. Martha knew that Katherine was suffering just as much as she herself was, but she could never in a million years have thought that this would drive her to cheat on her soon to be husba—

But wait, that wouldn't explain the broken down door. Her emotions swirled so fast it gave her whiplash. They changed quickly from anger and disappointment, to shame, to fear, and then to worry as she bent over to pick up the shirt in front of her: the collar was speckled with blood.

When she looked up, she saw a foot peaking around the kitchen island. Martha dropped the shirt and ran into the kitchen.

The first things she saw were the blood and the knife; at first it was all she could see.

She rushed to Katherine's side. She was unconscious, had cuts and scrapes all over her neck and shoulders, and resting in her limp hand there was a large chef's knife.

Had she done this to herself?

Upon further inspection, Martha discovered that most of the cuts were superficial except for a couple deep gashes on her shoulders. She also noticed the hair. It was surrounding them. Chopped little strands spread all over the kitchen floor, sticking in the small pools of blood.

For a moment, all she could do was stare. Then, slowly, carefully, in sort of a shock induced haze, she reached into her pocket pulled out that God forsaken phone and dialed 911.

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><p><em>I am so, so sorry for the delay in this chapter. I got really sick and ended up having to get surgery, and, as soon as I got better, I had finals. <em>

_Also, it's a little short; it was originally going to be two parts, but I decided to split this chapter into two. The next chapter will be up within a few days._

_Please review, let me know what I'm doing right AND what I'm doing wrong. Thank You!_


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